


It's Everything

by dorlgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorlgirl/pseuds/dorlgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don’t know exactly what people see when they look at us, but I know what I see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Everything

People see what they want to see in us. Best friends. Lovers. Soul mates. Abominations. Freaks. Lost souls. When we look out at the world around us, we see it through the filter of ourselves. All of our joys and triumphs, our pain and failures cast a shadow on the world in front of us. It taints and enhances. We struggle to make the chaos fit into some pattern we can understand. We have an instinctual need to find a keyhole to fit the unknown into.

When I look at him, I find myself puzzling over the inconsistencies and contradictions. I try to find a key that fits. The closest I've come to it leaves me feeling lacking in some way. There isn't a single moment or one facet that turns the chaos into a pattern. It’s everything that he is and was and could be. It’s the sum of all his parts that make him so colourful to me. 

It’s the way his skin darkens in the sun and his freckles stand out even more. It’s the way his smile is guileless one moment and dark the next. How his glare or the slump of his shoulders makes his disappointment clear and makes me wish I could fix whatever tore at him.

It’s the blending of all his scents - plain soap, shampoo, clean cotton. Sweat and deodorant, milled shaving soap and a hint of cologne, the fresh bite of toothpaste behind rich coffee. 

It’s the gun oil stains on his jeans and flour under his nails. It’s the way he laughs with his whole body, head tossed back in childish abandon. It’s the sharp tone of his voice when he’s upset and trying to hold himself together. It’s the way his tears track down his face and how he ignores them in favor of comforting someone else. 

It’s his pride and his self loathing. It’s the brilliance of his mind and the blinding light his soul casts on the shadows and scars life has left behind. 

It’s the way he says my name. It sounds like a prayer or a curse or a sigh or a scream. It’s the way I say his name. Like I’m finally coming home. 

I have lived thousands of years, traveled to every land, spoken every language known and I never found anyone or anything as captivating and beautiful as he is. 

He chuckles when I whisper to him about the exquisite mystery he is to me. His eyes close when I tell him I am happy to give up everything I was before and anything I could be in the future, just for the chance to stay with him. He pulls me close when I tell him I have always loved him and he whispers that he has been waiting his entire life for me.

I don’t know exactly what people see when they look at us, but I know what I see. I see the questions unasked and the answers ungiven, the paths taken and those abandoned. I see the sorrows and delights, the pain of a careless word and trembling joy of the simple brush of fingers. I see heaven and the universe and I tell him every day how much it means to me to share this life with him.


End file.
